Second Flash
by Zerafall
Summary: Minato Namikaze fully expected to die when he summoned the Shinigami. And yet, as he floats along the endless void, on the road towards the Shinigami's stomach; he cannot help but resist the idea of death. The Shinigami, sensing an opportunity to get rid of an annoying problem, flings Minato's soul into another world, and into a newborn Jaune Arc's dying body.
1. Chapter 1

Minato Namikaze liked to think that he had lived a very fulfilling life. He was content with how he died.

Sure, dying at such a young and unexpected age sucked; sure, having his wife dying alongside him sucked; sure, leaving his son alone with a legacy heavier than Tsunade of the Three Sannin's emotional baggage and- most likely -the wariness and distaste of the entire village (What? He was optimistic, not stupid) sucked; sure-

And then it was with a startled Minato that realized, no, he was not content, and that he did not actually want to die yet. It was disgraceful, surely, for a Hokage to be as afraid of something as common to a shinobi such as death.

He had always envisioned himself dying in a blaze of glory, no regrets, and with only the thoughts of his village and his family- which were basically one and the same in his opinion -on his mind; or perhaps dying in bed of old age, with his friends and loved ones crowding around his bed as he gave them one final weak smile, an even weaker thumbs up, and a cocky proclamation for them to wipe the tears off of their faces. Not through an unknown attack by a lunatic claiming to be another long-dead lunatic.

He felt the cold fingers of the Shinigami touching his soul in a way that felt neither particularly wrong nor uncomfortable; in fact, in felt really nice...maybe, just maybe, he could close his eyes, just for a few seconds...fighting a tailed beast - not to mention the strongest of them really took the fight out of a shinobi...

NO!

His eyes snapped to an empty void of colors incomprehensible to his mortal eyes, a canvas of endless dark, being carelessly painted upon by an entity with a brush dyed with even more _dark._

 _"MORTAL."_

A voice filled with power in its purest form. A figure wreathed in white, endlessly shifting form; to the most beautiful of maidens to the most hideous of demons: the thought came to his mind almost instinctively, and it slipped from his lips with the same flowing ease. Why did it feel so hard to hold onto his thoughts?

" _Shinigami._ "

Here was a figure worshiped by his people since the dawn of civilization, here was a (and no matter how his allies and enemies likened him to one. He would never compare) a god. People fought and died and lived for this figure. Its eyes- ever shifting -like the rest of its eerie form stared at him with no emotion that he could comprehend. It twirled a single finger (and he felt the motion was more towards his benefit than any actual necessity) and he suddenly floated closer to the god, enough to smell its breath, it smelt of...Kushina's hair?

 _"YOU STILL CLING TO LIFE. EVEN WHILE FACED WITH THE COMFORT OF DEATH. TELL ME WHY."_

It was not spoken as a demand; but then again Minato doubted anyone would be fool enough to refuse the freaking _Shinigami_.

"I-" he hesitated, how did one even speak to a deity? Respectfully was the safest bet, he figured, "I still have so much to do. I still have - well _had_ so much life left to live."

He struggled to come up with something else to say, but he found that he could not, for the Shinigami's clawed fingers were suddenly at his throat. He tried to flail around, but his body did not respond.

 _"CALM YOURSELF. MORTAL,"_ commanded the god; and despite himself, Minato found that he was doing just as the god had said; in a moment of utter hysteria, he thought of how useful such ability would've been had he had in his arsenal when he was still teaching a Genin team.

 _"YOU ARE ALREADY DEAD; YOU HAVE NOTHING TO FEAR,"_ The Shinigami was many things, found Minato: terrifying, powerful beyond his comprehension, surreal in its strangeness. Reassuring was not one of its qualities.

 _"AS FOR YOUR ANSWER..."_ The Shinigami hummed thoughtfully; tapping a finger to its chin in a mockery of human expression with the hand not currently _holding him up by his throat, "IT IS COMMON, BUT THE REASON IS NOT IMPORTANT. IT IS THE WILL BEHIND IT. IT WILL SUFFICE."_

Suffice for what? He wanted to ask, and he would have if not for his position, currently being _hoisted up by his throat_. The Shinigami regarded him as if he had actually spoken (Minato would not even surprised anymore if it could read his thoughts at this point).

 _"IT WILL SUFFICE FOR ANOTHER CHANCE."_

If Minato's thoughts were scrambling to make sense of the situation before, then he didn't even _know_ how to describe the jumbled mess that the death god's words made of his thoughts. But it could be summarized rather accurately with a single word.

'What?'

Power coalesced, breaking him out of his shocked stupor, and he watched as a rusted tanto formed from thin air. He could feel the sheer power and history radiating off of the decrepit blade. Orochimaru's Kusanagi had nothing on this.

The Shinigami, still holding him by his throat grasped at the blade with his other hand, and slashed at the air, cutting into the endless dark like a hot knife through butter; the dark gave way to white...just white, the same shade of white as paper, whiter in fact.

 _"I AM NOT DOING THIS OUT OF THE KINDNESS OF MY HEART, MORTAL. IN FACT, WHAT I AM, DOING COULD BE CONSIDERED A CRUELTY. YOUR SOUL WILL BE TORN ASUNDER, IT WILL PIECE ITSELF BACK TOGETHER, BUT THAT WILL TAKE YEARS. YOUR BODY WOULD NOT SURVIVE THE JOURNEY; SO YOUR SOUL ALONE WILL HAVE TO EMBARK. YOU WILL BE ATTRACTED TO A DYING BODY, AND YOU SHALL ASSIMILATE YOUR SOUL INTO IT'S. WHAT WILL OCCUR IS SOMETHING NOT EVEN I COULD SAY. FARE THEE WELL, MORTAL, AND REMEMBER. FIND THE UCHIHA."_

And with those unbelievable words: the Shinigami flung Minato into the portal.

 **AN**

 **Minato is a character that I find the Naruto fandom likes to bash; very unfairly, I might add. He's a badass that had to make a crappy choice: let thousands die, or condemn his son to a crappy life. So when I was brainstorming story ideas, I thought, "Why not make a story that has Minato as the protagonist?"**

 **My favorite part of this was the Shinigami, hands down. I never knew that writing a deity could be so fun.**

 **A common pitfall that these 'reincarnation' stories have is that the characters that are being reincarnated upon are just, sort of overwritten. I will endeavor to make Jaune have a personality that is a mixture of his canon self and Minato.**

 **I'm not sure about the pairings yet.**

 **Anyway. Enough if my pointless ramblings. Remember to leave a review.**


	2. Chapter 2

He had grown at an alarming rate.

Babies don't typically learn how to walk well until their fourteenth or fifteenth month, and won't even be able to speak their first until around 9 months. Jaune had taken under half that time. It was surreal at the time - a child just over his first year being able to walk around the house and hold conversations better damn near better than their five year old daughter.

They had chalked it up to him being a genius - it sure correlated with his strange birth; when his aura, well, _flickered_ , for a lack of a better word. White, first, then yellow, with a few barely-visible smatterings of a nerve-racking crimson. They had been understandably worried about his health: there had been absolutely no cases of Aura being activated as soon as child-birth. Not even in cut-throat Mistral (where talent was cultivated and coveted above all else) had there even been a case of awakening so early. And that crimson color in his aura...

His Aura had flickered sporadically throughout that day, never on for long - maybe a few seconds at best. It was beyond worrying, so worrying in fact, that Jaune's father had gone to his old acquaintance, Ozpin, the enigmatic Headmaster of Beacon Academy. The man had examined the child, and then promptly referred them to Atlas' Gepetto Polendina.

The result? Bafflement. Dr. Polendina was _the_ premier expert on Aura in not only Atlas, but all of Remnant, and he had never in all of his _decades_ of experience in examining Aura ever come across a case quite as unique as Jaune's. The utmost earliest case of Aura being activated was at seven years of age, and that was only after rigorous, borderline immoral training. A child - much less a new-born baby, just couldn't logically handle the strain that the activation of Aura placed upon the body.

And the _color_. Dr. Polendina had offhandedly commented that _that_ was the most baffling of all. Aura was a representation of the soul. The color was an indicator. Every recorded person in history, no matter their disposition, no matter if they were Faunus or if they were human, only possessed one color.

What did it say, then, that their son had not one, not two, but _three_ different colors?

* * *

Air was displaced. His little knees buckles, but he would not go down. He refused to. White, yellow, and smatterings of red. He was Defiance. He was a born-warrior, beyond everything that Remnant had ever and will ever know. Perhaps a pretentious and biased thought to have for his son, but he doubted it.

Six-year old Jaune glared up at him, a smirk on his lips, splitting his little chubby cheeks. It was an adorable sight. It was an impossible sight.

"That all you have old man?" He would never get used to the flawless, confident way that his six-year old spoke. Men many times his measly age would be hard-pressed to match the sheer self-assurance that his son seemed to be innately born with.

What he had was beyond talent. What he had was beyond genius. What he had was beyond miracle. It was unnatural. It was terrifying.

Jaune huffed, and his Aura flared - Luminescence, an advanced Aura control technique. The name was self-explanatory - and he could no longer see. A stab to the back of his knee that made him buckle, a swift 'swoosh' and the pommel of the training dagger that his son had requested smashed against his nose. It stung little. But it still stung.

He swung with his training sword - not with too much force of course, no matter how unnaturally talented his son was. He was just six-years old. Footsteps that shouldn't have been nearly as fast. He hit nothing but air.

Sight came back to him. His son, a few meters away from him, little chest heaving in exhaustion. He stared. Jaune smirked.

" _Now_ can I get some training?"

Truthfully, he didn't think that the boy needed it.

* * *

"You ready, Jaune?" His father asked him worriedly, brow creasing. Jaune rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation, while his mother and sisters chuckled.

"Yes dad. I'm ready, just like the last five times that you asked," he replied annoyingly. His father narrowed his eyes and huffed.

"Well _excuse_ me for worrying about my only son's first day at a Combat School," his dad then crossed his arms and pouted, which would be fine; if it were not a 6'7 tall bearded muscle-bound man doing the gesture. The Arc family all gave a collective shudder.

"I get it, dad; I really do. Trust me, though. I'm sure that my academic career will be better than yours," he said, giving his father a confident grin and a thumbs up.

"Not a very hard feat, to be honest," his mother chimed in, very much enjoying the show. Jaune's father looked thoroughly betrayed. The rest of the family had a nice laugh at his expression; teasing the man about his less than stellar teenager and young-adult phase was always an enjoyable past-time for the Arc family.

Jaune's father muttered something about how he had married and birthed a family of bullies; and then his eyes hardened, all traces of tomfoolery gone in an instant, the air grew solemn, and the smiles gave way to neutral and worried expressions.

"Jaune," his father began seriously, "are you really sure about becoming a Huntsman?"

Some part of Jaune was annoyed by that question. He had trained for hours on end, until his whole body was numb, until he could barely even move; he poured his everything into becoming a Huntsman ever since he could safely train, and his father was asking him _now_ if he was having second thoughts? How fickle did he think Jaune was? He wanted to help people, to save them. Nothing would change that. Not even his family. But Jaune was a mature thirteen year old, and he bit back the instinctual retort, and thought about the question seriously.

"Yes." It was clear to him that the answer did not placate his father's worries; but the older man let it go with a sigh, just nodding his head resignedly.

"Alright, Jaune. Pack your stuff, we're gonna head to the nearest Bullhead station."

Jaune nodded.

* * *

"I guess this is goodbye," Jaune said to family, standing in front of the imminently-departing Bullhead, awkwardly scratching the back of his head. Leaving felt weird, not in a bad way, but it was somewhat strange to think that he would living by himself on Patch Island now. There would be no more sisters annoying him, father ruffling his hair, or mother doting on him. He wasn't on the verge of tears or anything, unlike his mother and his more emotional sisters - he hastily wiped at his eyes - he was just sort of melancholic: honest.

His father steeped forward to embrace him; and the rest of the family joined in to form a gigantic group hug, and Jaune belatedly realized that this would be the last complete on in a long while. The behemoth of a man that was his father stepped back after a minute, even though the rest of the family did not, he waited patiently for them to end their moment.

After the last sister had been separated from Jaune - his youngest sister, who had been the most devastated at his leaving -, kicking and sobbing; his father cleared his throat, sparing Jaune a look,

"Jaune. I know that we haven't exactly been the most supportive of your decision to go to Signal and be a Huntsman; but believe us when we say that we believe that you can be a damn good Huntsman. Make us proud son, and above all. Please stay safe."

The words were heartfelt, and while it was clear that his family didn't necessarily _agree_ with his choice of career, they would at least support it. Jaune felt warm at their sincerity.

The thirteen year old gave his family a brilliant smile, "Thank you all." He rubbed the back of his head, expression turning sheepish, "I know that you guys haven't, been, uh, thrilled about the fact that I want to be a Hunter. I understand that, trust me. It's a dangerous job; I know that all of you just want to keep me safe. From the world outside the kingdom, from the Grimm, from bandits, and criminals, and all of that stuff."

He paused then. Striking up a pose taken straight out of X-ray and Vav. His sisters giggled at the sight of it, his mother palmed her face, and his father was rubbing his chin, nodding as if to say 'not bad'. His face burned with embarrassment, but he was laughing along with them.

"But you forget!" He said with pride. "I'm not just some snot-nosed upstart! I'm Jaune ARC! And it's not me that's not ready for the world! It's the world that's not ready for me!"

Everything was silent for a moment, aside from the occasional snicker from his sisters. Jaune stood there, arms still extended in the pose.

His mother slapped her husband at the back of his head, giving him the stink eyes, "Yep. Definitely his father's son."

Meanwhile his father had tears of pride streaming from his eyes, "Jaune," he said in the most serious voice that the boy had ever heard from him. The man gave him a thumbs up, "That was a brilliant speech."

It was the straw the broke the camel's back. His family all broke raucous laughter, and after a second of all consuming embarrassment. Jaune turned tail and fled into the Bullhead, shouting something about them not appreciating his 'awesome speech'.

Jaune's mother looked at the retreating form of her son, and while a smile was on her face due to her son's antics, it was clear that she was still worried. She felt a weight on her shoulder and turned to look at her husband, who had a reassuring smile on his face.

"He'll be fine. He's an Arc. Plus, for a thirteen year old, he's crazy strong."

She sighed, reluctantly nodding at his point, "I know, dear. It's just...I can't help but worry. Even though he's so capable now; I can't stop seeing him as my little boy.

The blone-haired man chuckled and nodded, "I know what you mean. But we can't do anything from now on except for believing in him."

"I guess you're right."

"Honey," he said cockily, "I'm _always_ right."

She just scoffed, but laughed anyway. Yes. Jaune would be just fine, if he was anything like his father, then he would just be too stubborn to die.

* * *

Jaune stared with wide eyes at the island of Patch from the window of the Bullhead. It seemed quite stunning from above; the ocean - sparkling due the light of the sun - surrounded and occasionally lapped at some parts of the landmass. It was relatively tropical, as expected from an island, though some parts of it were covered in snow.

"We will be reaching the Patch Bullhead Station in about ten minutes."

The voice from the intercom only managed to increase his levels of excitement. He could hardly believe it! He was going to be taking another step towards becoming a legitimate hunter.

His excitement caused him to bounce up and down on seat and excitement. The gruff-looking raven-haired man sitting beside him looked at him in annoyance. Jaune grinned sheepishly and stopped his movements, but his leg still bounced up and down.

The gruff man took a cursory look at him and spoke. His voice was rough, "You aiming to be a trainee Huntsman, kid?"

Jaune gave him a smile, nodding cheerily, "And I'm guessing that you're an actual Huntsman?"

The man looked momentarily surprised before regaining his composure, "Oh?" He said challengingly. "How do you figure?"

"Probably the same way you guessed I was one," Jaune nodded to his attire, "while it isn't as flashy as some of the other outfits I've seen. Dress shirt, pants, shoes over a red, beat-up cape is still pretty distinctive. Plus whenever you move a bulge, which is probably your weapon - I'm guessing mechashift 'casue those are pretty popular, and it seems pretty compact - can be sorta seen through your cape."

"So," Jaune then said, smiling, "am I right?"

The man said nothing for a moment, before he chuckled in amusement, "I like you, kid. You've got spunk. And yeah, you're right. I'm a Huntsmam." The man looked at him shrewdly after a second, "You heading to Patch to go to Signal?" He asked.

Jaune nodded.

"What a coincidence," The man drawled, "I'm actually a teacher there. So I guess you're gonna be one of my students, huh? That is, if you pass the entrance exam."

Jaune's eyes gleamed at the challenge. "Piece of cake."

The man just chuckled, shaking his head, "We'll see soon enough if you can back up those words."

Jaune simply laughed, "I guess we will." He then extended a hand to the man. "My name's Jaune Arc."

The man took his hand. He had a firm grip. "The name's Qrow Branwen."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Branwen."

The man winced, as if stung. "Just Qrow is fine; 'Mr. Branwen' makes me feel old.

"I think I can see some grey in your hair though."

Qrow gave him a glare for his cheek, "Hah, hah. Very funny. More of that and if you become my student, I'll be sure to make your life hell."

"Isn't that sort of an, I dunno, unjust abuse of your position?"

Qrow raised a brow, "Annnndddd?"

Jaune shook his head, "Already. The teachers of Signal Academy are proving how trustworthy they are."

"Damn straight."

They lapsed into a short silence after that, with Qrow periodically taking little sips from his flask. Eventfully, after a few minutes had passed, the older man's eyes drifted to the pair of small sheaths at Jaune's sides.

"You do know that you're supposed to make your weapons at Signal, right?"

"Hm?" Jaune looked at him and nodded, "Yeah. These are just some daggers that my dad got for me on my birthday. They're pretty well made, and I've always been handy with them. Why? Is bringing in outside weapons not allowed?"

"Nah. It's just unusual for students to bring in their own weapons. You're still gonna have to make a weapon for your first year Weapons Creation and Maintenance test, though. I'm taking it that your daggers are your main weapons?"

"Yeah."

"You sure that's wise? It might better to reconsider, range is important in a battle. One good hit could be the difference between life and death."

Jaune did not seem to be deterred in his choice of weaponry though, merely giving him a confident look, "I know what I'm doing. I've been using daggers for a long time and I'm pretty damn good if I do say so myself."

Qrow shrugged. "It's your funeral, kid."

Jaune looked out of the window again, and noted that their destination was imminent, a few minutes later and they had landed.

Qrow stood up, Jaune followed his lead. They grabbed their bags and made way for the exit.

The first thing that Jaune noted about Patch Island was that it was warm, not unbearably so, but the small island was definitely a hotter place than his home town in the Valean countryside. Jaune walked alongside Qrow as they traversed through Patch's Bullhead Station, staying silent all the while. Jaune got the feeling that Qrow was not a man who enjoyed small talk.

Once they had submitted their identification papers, they left the Bullhead station and bid each other adieu.

Jaune glanced around the streets of Patch, while a far cry from the hustle and bustle of Vale City; it had more of 'homey' feel to it.

Jaune smiled, deciding to go sightsee for a little while, before going to search for a hotel and then rest.

In many ways, this was the beginning of his journey.

 **AN**

 **'Whoa,' you must be thinking to yourself. 'That lazy bastard Zerafall uploaded two chapters in a timespan of not-even two days. Who are you and what have you done to the real Zerafall!?"**

 **Yes. I am in fact the real Zerafall. I've been feeling guilty over the fact that I haven't uploaded anything in over a month. Had this lying around, and decided 'why the hell not?' did some last minute editing and decided to upload it after the chapter of Happily Ever After.**

 **For those worried about Jaune/Minato just sitting around and looking pretty while he's in Signal don't worry. I envision Minato to be a pretty proactive guy, that will bleed over onto Jaune.**

 **Plus, it won't be that boring. I'll give you a hint of things to come. Pyrrha's the four time winner of a tournament in Canon. This isn't Canon. Not with Minato added into the equation.**

 **As always. Leave a review.**


End file.
